


I Will Change My Fate as a Villainess

by asmolifee



Category: Original Work
Genre: Antagonism, Antagonistic protagonist, Demonic Possession, Demons, Drama & Romance, Eventual Romance, F/F, Fantasy, Fate, Fate & Destiny, Female Friendship, LGBTQ Character of Color, LGBTQ Themes, Lesbian Character of Color, M/M, Multi, Nonbinary Character, Original Fiction, Time Loop, Villainesses, based on existing fiction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:49:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24878737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asmolifee/pseuds/asmolifee
Summary: “I, Lucienne Lu’cifienne Durameur: Exiled Daughter of House Durameur, the Ruiner of Isleneia, have one last request. Remember me as a witch, remember me as a monster, tell your children my story to scare them in their beds.”The words come out before I can adjust them, my throat raw, my head spinning. The sun is beating down on my skin, blood rushes in my ears. I clench my hands into fists, so tight I can feel my knuckles ache.“Remember me! Remember my name! Lucienne Lu’cifienne Durameur. I speak these words as a curse. You will see me again. You will know my name once more and I will seize those hungry eyes that have watched me these twenty long years and expose all that lie behind them!”~ & ~After being given a second chance at life, a haughty villainess is determined to rewrite her own story. Sent back two years prior to her death by a demon craving her soul, she must avoid making the same mistakes again to change her own fate. Can the The Wickedest Most Vile Maiden In The Land change her image and save her own neck? Or will she stumble down the same dark path to the gallows!
Relationships: Original Character(s)/Original Character(s), Original Female Character & Original Male Character, Original Female Character/Original Female Character, Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Kudos: 5





	1. Rebirth,  A Second Chance For The Wickedest Most Vile Maiden In The Land.

**PROLOGUE**

**Rebirth,** _A Second Chance For The Wickedest Most Vile Maiden In The Land._

  
  
  


~ & ~

The church bells ring through the valley, a hollow chime reminding me of time's passage. A gale brushes through the streets, cool air latching on my skin and deflecting the summer heat. I make note of the smells - Lilies and roses in full bloom, gardenia’s sweet perfume bleeds into the breeze. Freshly baked bread sits on the windows of townhouses. The sights, green grass and healthy shrubs decorate the roadsides further brightening the marble paths. On any other day it would be business as usual. But the common folk are not going about their daily business today. They stand on either side of the street, leaving the road clear, the road down which I am half-led, half-dragged. Guards shuffle me along the stone, their grips, their treatment isn’t a surprise, I’ve learnt to expect it. After one hundred and fifty long days in the cold dark dungeons of Isleneia, I am a little more than numb to being treated as less than human. My skin feels dry, my eyes are red from lack of sleep, my hair has lost its luster. No doubt I look more beastly than ever before.

As we approach the townsquare the crowd becomes a swarm, curious commoners offsetting a sea of elegance as high society gather around the gallows. Dresses that are sickeningly bright, perfumes that are too strong for my nose and eyes burning with hatred. Smiles of glee are hidden poorly behind expensive fans and handkerchiefs. I can tell they’ve longed for this moment, even before my descent. They craved my madness long before the seeds began to root. Today their desires shall be realized.

Today is the day of my execution, the amalgamation of all my sins. Today a god I no longer believe in will judge me. 

And I’m one-hundred-percent certain I know his verdict. For I am the wickedest, most vile maiden in all the land. The Wicked Witch of House Durameur. The Devil-Daughter of Count Aindreas Durameur. The Ruiner of Isleneia. I’ve garnered a reputation as a witch, a monster, a murderer and a manipulative self-serving bitch. I am a crazed animal waiting to be put down. Of course I’m due a swift judgement, there is no good within my blackened soul left to consider. That died a long, long time ago. 

The steps are hard under my feet, blisters and cuts make each movement torture. I do not cry, I do not whine, I do not complain. There is no value in my words as there once was. I can only stride in bitter obedience. I fade in and out of coherence, the whispers of the crowd are muted and then loud and then simply silent. The noose sways before me, it’s threaded length a mockery, I can see the gates of hell through its loop. I’m scared. I don’t want to die. Not today and not surrounded by the faces of former friends, of confidants and lovers. People I’ve no relation to, people I’ve been intimate with. They want a spectacle. One last chance to humiliate me. I let my rage settle beneath my feet, I will need it, but not now. I will not give them their show of pity.

My body is shoved forward, I stop myself from falling and steel my legs to keep balance. The new king stands on a leveled platform, young and emboldened by his new power. Power I granted him. Power he tricked me into giving him. His father's death at my hands allowed him a swift and easy ascension, without worry of his siblings. He puffs out his chest, wearing a simple doublet, of course, even though this is an official event I am not worth the finest leather, the softest silks or the most precious of jewels. The date of my death matters as little as afternoon tea to a man such as him. It makes me sick.

My eyes wander across the crowd, I stare each and every one of them down, they want me to cry, they want me to beg for my life. But I will not.

Colour fades to grey.

My gaze lands on the maiden at the King’s side. Olivette. Her eyes are downcast, her hands wrenched in her skirts. She at least made the effort to dress as a lady should. I can’t help but smile. I do not blame her for this, although it would be ludicrous to say her involvement in my life did not start my fall.

Something wet and warm strikes my face. The soured-sweet scent of rotting fruit burns my nose. It rolls down my dirtied tunic and hits the wood with a thick slap. I grimace, but simply make the conscious effort to move my head when the next one flies. I cannot avoid them all and the nobles merely laugh at the commonfolk who throw garbage at me. The King I killed was a good one. One who loved his people, I had stolen him from them and left them with incompetent son, and now I would pay the price.

The King clears his throat. The crowd stills. All eyes are on him. His face does not register in my sight. All I see is lines and spirals, a black mark obscures his features and even his voice is warped.

_ “Lucienne Lu’cifienne Durameur, The Ruiner of Isleneia. Exile from House Durameur, killer of my father - The late King Leonard. Today you will pay for your crimes against the kingdom, against the people and the crown.” _

A wild cheer rings through the air, mothers hold their children close, misery in their eyes. The people mourn their king like good citizens do, they condemn me with harsh cries and slurs. I let them roll off my back. Prison was worse than whatever words they can say to me now that my status has been stripped.

He clears his throat and continues.

_ “The council and the people have weighed your case. A jury of your peers who knew you at your best and your worst have decided your fate. Your punishment for the crimes of Treason, Murder, Witchcraft, Possession of Outlawed Scriptures and Theft is death by the Gallows. Have you anything to say to the people in your last moments?” _

One of the guards pulls me to the trap door, another hooks the noose around my throat where I once hung necklaces. He tightens in and I feel my pulse jump. I am scared. I am terrified. But I bite my lip and breathe, relishing in my last few minutes of life.

_ “I do,”  _ curious murmurs ride on the wind. Hungry eyes stare at me. I am meat displayed in front of wolves.  _ “I, Lucienne Lu’cifienne Durameur: Exiled Daughter of House Durameur, the Ruiner of Isleneia, have one last request. Remember me as a witch, remember me as a monster, tell your children my story to scare them in their beds.” _

The words come out before I can adjust them, my throat raw, my head spinning. The sun is beating down on my skin, blood rushes in my ears. I clench my hands into fists, so tight I can feel my knuckles ache.

_ “Remember me! Remember my name! Lucienne Lu’cifienne Durameur. I speak these words as a curse. You will see me again. You will know my name once more and I will seize those hungry eyes that have watched me these twenty long years and expose all that lie behind them!” _

The stunned silence is peaceful. None respond to my cry. Something blue flickers before me. I close my eyes and say a prayer to no one, the sun feels nice, my blood stops roaring. My body drops and I leave this world.

~ & ~

  
  


I awaken with a cry, sweat soaking into my nightgown. My head pounds and I press my fingertips to my throat, gasping for air. The frenzied beating of my heart startles me, as does my own pulse, which races like a horse. My eyes are wide and every muscle in my body is stiff. For a few moments I lie there, touching my face, pressing my fingertips into my skin. 

I am alive.

I bolt upright, weighed down by silk sheets and a soft, plush comforter. Tears burn behind my eyes as I toss them aside and stumble out of a grand canopy bed. My vision is blurred, everything is spinning, my balance is off center. Every step I take is shaky, I throw myself into the nearest seat, my sight bleeds back to normal and I find myself staring into my own reflection.

I’m alive. 

My silky black hair is messy from sleep, tussled in thick, inky curls. My bright eyes shimmer a vibrant green, like jade earrings. My tanned skin is smooth and unblemished, dotted with my three beauty marks. I do not see a husk in this mirror, I see myself. My old, untarnished self. I look younger. The only thing that seems amiss is the thick, ugly wound on my neck, immortalized in a slash for dark skin. My fingers touch the silver, it’s cool against my burning skin. Every nerve-end in my body is fluttering.

My prayer was heard. My prayer was answered. That god who’d led me astray had repaid me in full. I had been given a second chance.

“You give him too much credit.”

An unfamiliar voice. The hairs on my neck stand on end and I cannot control the speed in which I swerve around, nor the startled cry that leaves my mouth. My heart starts up again, something in my bones tells me I’m in danger. I stare, bug-eyed, at the owner of this voice. The smooth, warm tone belonging to a young man sat politely on my bed. Dressed in the uniform embellished with the Durameur’s crest. His eyes are pale blue and his lashes are long. His hair is a fiery red and hangs across his shoulder in a thick braid.

He grins at me and there’s something behind it that suggests he is not an ordinary man.

“Who are you?” My voice comes out hard, I can’t hide my suspicion. He only smiles wider, teeth perfectly white and sharper than knives. His pupils slit and I feel my blood chill. 

A demon.

“You catch on fast, Miss. Yes, yes. I’m a demon. As of right now I’m  _ your  _ demon. As per our contract.” He says, his voice darker and deeper with every word. An overwhelming presence blankets the room, I’m met with a power I could never hope to understand. But I rise to it, standing up to face him properly.

“You can hear my thoughts?”

“Mhmm, even your deepest, darkest ones. That little voice in your head tells me all I need to know.”

He stands, he does not tower over me, thankfully. But he is still tall in comparison, by at least a couple of centimetres. He is well built, and elegant as he moves even if his harsh voice does not convey that. Something sparks on his gloves, something blue. Things fall into place.

“...You are the one who answered my prayer.”

He laughs, clapping his hands before yanking me towards him and pressing me against his chest. He is warm, but I feel no heartbeat.

“Correct, Miss Lu’cifienne! Yes, yes, I am the benevolent being that has granted you a second chance.”

He twirls me around the room, guiding me in a waltz until I manage to untangle myself from his hold. He laughs again, bowing in a mock gesture of respect.

“And what do you intend to take from me?”

The existence of demons is hypothesized in this world, but the church forbade intensive studies into them or their dark power. There are books on the topic, but they have been banned and owning such things can be considered a heinous crime. I would know.

“You’ve done your reading! Well done, well done~. You’re already a far better investment than I thought. What I’m after my dear, is your soul.”   
  
“My soul.”   
  


“Every last drop of it.”

I harden my stare, trying to appear less like a frail human being. He lulls his head to the side and I notice pointed ears poking through red strands. He sits back down upon my bed, waiting for me to come to my own conclusion. When I squint he relents the information.

“Your soul is a unique one my dear. It is not unusual for humans to gain an influx of power before an untimely death, normally it flickers out, but yours was something else. Yours continued to burn even after you died at those gallows. You called out to a god that will not break his vows of indifference and the reality of your situation led me to you instead.”

He holds his hand out to me with a flourish, when I accept it he kisses my knuckles.

“My goal is to let this soul of your flourish to its full potential, and consume it once you die a more befitting death. The misery of a chef is reflected in his cooking, so I decided that instead of consuming such a miserable meal I’d give you a chance to change things,”

“And you wish to be involved in the cultivation of that meal?”   
  
“Of course,” he says. He smiles again, toothy and wide. “Your life is ripe with tragedy, I’ve seen multiple versions of your tale and you squander your second chance almost immediately and die before any real change can occur.”

I don’t know what expression I make, but it sends him howling. His laughter is haughty and obnoxious. I can’t help but bite my nail.

“So you’re essentially here to be my babysitter??”

“Not exactly, it is most convenient for me to stay around you to keep you out of immediate danger, yes? But ultimately your growth relies solely on your own actions. I can influence certain people around you, but those with strong ties to you are your own problem to deal with.”   
  
“I see..”

I won’t complain, it’s probably advantageous to have a demon routing for you, especially one that can blend in.

“So, how do you intend to make this work? My family will know you are not one of our staff.”   
  
“Then make me one.”   
  
“How am I supposed to explain that?? Servants don’t just appear you know? They need credentials. They need recommendations. My step-mother picks the servants herself.”   
  
“That’s not my problem, my dear.”

I open my mouth to object, but the door knocks. Once. Twice. A moment passes and then a third lands.

…

“Come in.” I say, narrowing my eyes at him. He grins at me and shrugs his shoulders as the door slowly opens.

A young woman with dark hair walks in, dressed neatly and moving with grace. She initially looks surprised at the man, but her eyes lose shine as he smiles at her and once the light returns she returns the smile.

“Milady, I heard a scream, is everything alright?”   
  
Her voice is soft and low, a delicate ring like a wind chime or a dinner bell. She curtseys, heels crossing daintily. Everything about her is class and elegance.

“Ah, Amelia, I’m alright, I was having a nightmare.”   
  
“Oh no… It’s good that Mister Accius woke you then.”   
  
What a sly way to give me his name.

“Yes, yes. Accius was making his rounds and ensured to wake me…”

Amelia nods at my words and does not comment further.

“What are my plans for today, Amelia?”

She bows and withdraws a notepad from her apron. She lets the door shut behind her as she steps further into the room, even her steps are quiet, her heels do not so much as click against the floor.

“You have no important meetings today, however you are to have dinner with your father, your siblings and Lord Lupton tonight in the pavilion.”

I find myself humming. A dinner with my family is a disaster waiting to happen. But I have experienced all this before, the only difference is now I have a chance to change my life for the better, not in some silly superficial way either.

I am the youngest of four, I have three elder step-brothers who are all fighting for my father’s honor. They want to be the family head on day and will do anything to impress him, including sucking up to a man they hate - Lord Lupton, ever the miserable old goat - and even disowning the sister they claimed to love so much to keep his favour. Each of them are similar, but have their own skill or talent that makes them unique. Such is expected of the sons of a man as wealthy and noble as my father. Before I was simply raised to play the role as the good future housewife. Though not even that fate seemed good enough for one such as I, who was too greedy.

I stride over to the closet, my hands curling around the silver handle. It swings open without a sound and dresses in many colours and style flood my gaze. I rummage through them, tossing the tackier ones onto my bed. Piles and piles of silks and furs and velvets I no longer want in my life. If I am to change my fate I want to be thorough, that means I cannot neglect the little things. My image is just as important as my actions.

“Amelia. Have someone take these gowns to town and sell their fabrics. I will be refreshing my wardrobe, and fetch me a sewing kit.”

She nods and disappears, leaving me alone with Accius. He watches me through those long lashes, a lazy kind of gaze that doesn’t bother me.

“I see. So that’s what you’re thinking. Interesting.”

His eyes follow me to the glass doors that lead to my balcony. The manor that houses the Durameurs is fairly new, built only ten years ago to the current date - when I was nine years old. I had begged and whined and complained to each of my brothers, all at least three years my seniors, until they rescinded and let me have the biggest room. It had been my home until I was twenty, when I was arrested and taken to prison for my crimes. My belongings were burnt days before my execution, to cleanse this house of my ‘demonic’ presence.

I stare out into the garden, the golden rose of Durameur’s fosterlands bloom in clumps that sparkle in the sunlight. The gardeners tend to the vegetation with the utmost care, picked from only the most respectable of workhouses by Lady Daphne, my step mother. They work tirelessly in the fields from dawn til dusk to provide us with the finest greenery.

A small child wonders through the maze of plants, a sunhat resting on her straw blonde hair. She is a frail thing, but happy, her smile wide as she carefully runs around. When she nears my balcony I whistle and she stops in her tracks, looking up at me with big doe eyes. I smile at her.

“Wait there a moment, dear! Accius!”   
  
He drudges over to me, a brow raised.

“Fetch my jewelry box.”   
  
When he sets it in my hand I pull out a brooch fashioned to look like a ladybug and hairclip shaped like a butterfly. I gesture to her to come closer and once she’s near enough I crouch onto the floor, leaning to drop the gifts lightly into her palm. She studies them with that bright childlike curiosity and when she looks back up at me her eyes are sparkling.

“What’s your name?” I ask, giving her my warmest smile.

“Elizabeth!” She calls back.

“Well, Elizabeth. Those are my gifts to you, for you and your mother. And--” I pass her a small bag of gold, “this for your father for working so hard. Run and give them to him for me, won't you?”

She nods eagerly, trying and failing to conceal her smile, then bolts off.

I stand and dust myself off. Accius is still watching me, but there's a knowing smile on his face.

“You plan to make yourself a saint?” He’s mocking me, there is something in his tone that clues me in. I roll my eyes and enter my room, the dresses I’d asked to be rid of are gone and a decorative box sits in their place.

“No, it’s not that simple. Acts of kindness are only part of this plan. I do intend to rebrand myself but saintship does not suit me in the slightest. I am capable of terrible, terrible things, but I will not let myself be manipulated into doing them for anyone but myself. I have to be smarter this time around.”

I unclip the latch as I take a seat, inside are an assortment of sewing tools. Threads of the highest quality and industry needles send a prang down my spine, a memory of my mother looms over me, then settles as I breathe.

“First order of business, I need to get my family to take me seriously. They viewed my obscene outfits as cries for attention, so I will get it another way.”

Accius hums, mostly uninterested.

“Trust me, dear demon. Things will not slip out of my control again.”

The hours I spend sewing take me into the late afternoon. The sun is dipping towards the horizon and the air is cooling. The breeze flutters the curtains and bursts of pinkish-orange light seep into the room. The contents of my jewelry box are spilled across my bed linens; assortments of rubies and diamonds, onyxes and jades and deep amethysts lay upon the silk and glitter in the evening sun. The outfit I have made myself for the evening is almost complete. But an ensemble cannot function without all it’s components working in harmony. Amelia stands behind me, braiding my hair into some elaborate crown, her handiwork is precise and calculated, no hair left out of place. She threads beads and pearls delicately into my crown, enough to sparkle without being an eyesore.

Accius sits beside us, Amelia does not question his lack of formality, and if she finds the way he lounges in his master’s room unusual she keeps it to herself. My plan will begin tonight. I cannot afford to waste a single moment, even the course I take to this uneventful meal must be precise and deliberate. I know the consequences of my foolish past actions and I will learn from my death to bring myself a new life. After that, I don’t care what happens, this demon can have my soul for all I care.

Amelia steps away from me, letting me know she is finished. She bows and leaves, no doubt to help prepare for Lupton’s arrival. Accius does not move, but I make my way to the mirror to examine myself. I do not wear makeup, My hair is beautifully done, My outfit is feminine, but not outrageous, all I lack is something to conceal my scar.

I run my hands along my clothes, the shirt I slaved over for hours is made of dark silk, and rests under a bodice in a shade of green so dark it could be mistaken for black. Roses are embroidered across it in golden thread that compliments my eyes and melt into fine foliage patterns. My corset is tied neatly thanks to Amelia and matches well with the black pants I’ve sewn. My boots, salvaged from the back of the closet stop at my thighs, they are supposedly made to be worn under dresses in the winter, but they fit the look well. The night is certain to be cool, so I needn’t worry about the heat. Besides, I look elegant, not masculine enough to threaten any of the men I will be dining with, but enough to send a message. Good.

All that is lacking is jewelry.

“Wear pearls. That will disarm them.” Accius chirps. In the growing darkness his eyes are slit, they shimmer like the ocean on a summer’s day.

“Pearls. Will they cover my scar? I can’t have questions about it.”

“I could make them do that. It wouldn’t be directly influencing your family, so it should fool them.”

He picks up the string of pearls, moving his hand to study them. Then he speaks words in a language I cannot comprehend. Blue flames flicker from his fingertips and he moves behind me to clip the string on.

“They will see nothing but silky skin.” He muses.

I stare at my reflection. I can see my weakest self, the husk I’d become just before my death. My throat goes tight, visions of the crowd, the gallows, the king, all flood to me. I cannot let that happen again. Something burns under my skin.

Accius sets his hand on my shoulder, humming quietly.

“You will be fine.” He says, I look at him through the mirror. His smile is radiant, but does not reach his eyes.

“And what happens if I’m not?”

He chuckles.

“I’m afraid you don’t have a choice, Miss.”


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER ONE**

**First Trial,** _Recollection, and Alterations._

~ & ~

  
  
  


House Durameur.

One of the founding families of Isleneia. Our progenitor, Count Matthias, had aided the first king in economic matters and helped bring the kingdom prosperity. Since then this house has been known for its business empire, spanning across the globe and stretching far off into the southern lands. 

It was this dominant hold on the industry that allowed my parents to meet. My mother came from a kingdom far beyond Isleneia’s waters, a woman of dark complexion who his parents originally believed "bewitched" him. She was kind and intelligent, brave, and earnest. But she was taken from me in my youth, I had grown knowing we were disliked, disrespected behind those pretty little smiles. Mother had been different, she had been fascinating; always learning, always growing. Her words were powerful and might unending.

Father told me stories of their love once before - on a cold night when the storms were particularly harsh and my bed was not sufficient to comfort for my ten-year-old self. They were fairy tales, to imagine any of the courtiers doing some of the things they did together was almost disturbing.

_“We were young and foolish.”_ He had said, combing his fingers through my hair. 

_“She craved apples that day, and where we laid was laden full of apple trees, towering high above even myself. Leaves glittered green and gold in the sun, the air was warm and sweet. I mocked her because that is what we did, we mocked one another and laughed with all our hearts. I told her, ‘a lady of such grace could not possibly climb the tallest tree and pick the sweetest fruit.’ and she did, she pulled her dress over her head and kicked off her shoes and she climbed, in her underwear, right to the top and tossed me down the ripest, sweetest apples in the orchid.”_

He told me of their afternoons surrounded by hibiscus’, swimming in the clear waters, and drinking from the fruits. He had held my mother in high regard, married her within a year, and brought her back here. She visited her home often and brought him back jewels and trinkets she had carved herself. When her hair was at its longest, big thick beautiful curls that framed her face like a lion’s mane, he sat by her side and threaded flowers through the strands.

They had been in love. And something had changed in Count Aindreas Durameur when she had died.

~ & ~

Accius followed me down the long halls of Durameur Manor. Any curious stares sent his way disappeared with a single charming smile. He certainly looked the part and played it well, but that didn’t mean my family would be fooled. Lord Lupton was not my concern at the moment, I already knew Accius’ influence would extend to him, I was often ignored by that man in my past life. After all, I was the only girl in a family full of men and while he could barely hide his attraction to my step-mother, I was far too much of a brat ( and more than half his age ) to bother going after. My merit had never come from my brains, although I was not stupid, my power was drawn from my looks and the strength of my family name. I had not used it for more than getting what I wanted before my death, I doubt I truly understood the power Durameur had as a household until now.

I was the only kin of the current Durameur line, the only one sitting at that table with a solid blood connection with this house and it’s legacy. And I intended to use that to my advantage.

“And here I thought you’d stray away from the public.” The demon chirped, his words low and slow, a rumbling purr in the back of his throat. He grinned when I glanced at him.

“If I were any other person, I would. But this house and its servants are my birthrights by default and I intend to make my debut another way,” I replied, my footsteps quiet against the carpet. “There is no point delaying the inevitable, I am a child of Durameur, to postpone my debut would be foolish, I am going to, however, do it my terms.”

As we neared the staircase, we passed a series of portraits. The portraits of every Lord and Lady of House Durameur were hung on either wall, decadent pieces commissioned by the family every generation to mark our successes. The largest portrait hanging up was of the late Count Matthias, his stare piercing even now. The frame was elaborate and decorative, and excessive. The Late Count was a tall, pale-skinned man with dark hair and deep green eyes. I only knew so much about him, he was a mysterious and powerful man, one who commanded the respect of his peers and his enemies. In his eyes I saw darkness, one unbefitting a portrait, he commanded respect even in death, even as an illustration.

The last painting on the wall was one of my current family: my father, my stepmother - Lady Daphne, Justice, Frederick and Winston, my stepbrothers, and myself. And before that a portrait of my mother. I stared at her. She stared back, impassively, a still image was unable to capture the light she held.

“What will you do with these should your plan come to fruition?” Accius asked from beside me. My gaze hardened. I shrugged my shoulders, neglecting to answer.

“There is no point putting promises that may be unattainable into the air yet.”

He didn’t comment further and thus we continued our walk to the pavilion in silence. The servants opened the door to the garden and bled the bright light of the moon inside. The cobblestone path stretched around the corner out of sight. The night air was cool and clear, the warmth from the day remained and cling to me. At the end of the walkway, surrounded by the prestige foliage of the Durameur gardens was the pavilion - A grand display of wealth and grandeur, it stretched across a fair portion of the garden and had been constructed out of the whitest marble. The dining table was an elegant blend of birchwood and steel. Above it was the gazebo, one with fabrics from my mother's homeland. Vines of ivy and white flowers coiled and spun around the legs, leading to it were trees bearing sweet fruit and our signature golden roses. 

Something in my body lurched and an overwhelming sense of sickness washed over me. A woozy, dizzying sensation like I had smelt something foul or ate something rotten. My thoughts clouded and buzzed, growing louder and louder. I tilted my head back, breathing in the sweet air. High above us, the moon shone like a pearl, stars glitter around it, but I could not find peace in such a display of beauty. Not when my veins pumped adrenaline to my heart. Accius had set his hand on the small of my back and guided me towards the pavilion. I regained my composure, straightening my back. I could not let myself falter now.

“What’s going on, Accius?” My voice came out labored, the words heavy. I did my best to steel my expression.

“You are remembering. Think of it as an extreme case of deja vu.” He said cooly. He was right, I could see things I'd experienced before, it had been happening all day, but nothing of this magnitude. At most I'd seen a passing thought when I closed my eyes, or smelt something that reminded me of the past. This was different, this was intense, a shock running through me, warning me of danger. Was I about to make a mistake? I would have to find out. Backing out would not help me at all.

I steadied my breathing, I didn’t have time to panic. I saw servants darting to and fro, all determined to provide a quality experience worthy of the Durameur name. My brothers already sat around the table, all three of them dressed to perfection, all cold beauty, and harsh elegance. Lady Daphne sat opposite, dressed in a vibrant yellow, her light brown hair fashioned into a neat braid. She idly played with the many golden bracelets around her wrists.

Accius distanced himself and I purposefully made my footsteps louder. Justice, the youngest, noticed me first. He glanced up with a bored look in his deep brown eyes. When our gazes met I smiled, it was a small one, one meant to disarm him. He was the one I was closest to, as our ages weren’t too distant. Frederick and Winston followed suit. Neither found my company worthwhile, so their empty stares were not surprising.

“My brothers. Mother.” I greeted them with a bow, keeping my head as clear as I could. Daphne didn’t bother to look my way. But Winston and Frederick at least bowed their heads.

“We heard from Amelia that you had been suffering from night terrors. You were not present for breakfast, nor lunch.” Justice spoke, he sounded genuinely concerned about my well being. Daphne tutted.

“Yes, that is correct. I had a restless sleep and woke up feeling under the weather, I did not want to expose you all to a temperament unbefitting of the Durameur name. So I had Accius bring me my meals.” The lie rolled out smoothly, naturally on my tongue. I had lied many times, but typically never to save my neck. My white lies served a greater purpose now.

“I’m glad you’re well enough to join us now.” 

I smiled at my brother and took my seat beside Daphne. “Of course,” I said. “It would be a mockery to our family if I did not make an effort to meet a guest.”

It is considered an insult to not at least attend a dinner with another noble. Once upon a time I would’ve scoffed and stayed in my room. But I needed to grab that behavior by the root if I wanted to survive, and hold myself accountable.

“Ha!” Daphne laughed, she turned to face me, her honey brown stare would’ve been something to admire had she not hated me so, “you honestly expect us to believe you’ve changed overnight? It was only last week you harassed your maids to the point one of them resigned.”

_My lips pulled back into a snarl. “Why should I listen to you? The whore who replaced my mother.” I spat, Daphne’s eyes widened. Her brows furrowed, those brown irises burnt bright with hatred._

_I saw the way her hand twitched, she wanted to strike me and I wanted to let her. If she did I could cry to my father._

That urchin feeling returned, a burning sense of anger threatened to swallow me whole. I was attempting to change my fate, but that did not mean I had to forgive Daphne for all the hardships she’d put me through. It did not justify my past behavior, but to say her treatment of me did not fuel it would be foolish.

Daphne loathed me. Because I was a symbol of their illegitimacy. I was the firstborn of the Durameur house, not married in. My very existence invalidated her linage. She had tried and failed several times to get my father to reproduce another child. He refused every time. She took that shame out on me.

Still, I did not fall for the obvious trap. I could not be careless in this new life of mine. Instead, I straightened my back and poised myself.

“Of course not, mother. Words are meaningless. You’ve never once accepted my sincerest of apologies, so I will simply have to show you through my behavior, yes?” Daphne’s face scrunched up, but she held her tongue if only to save face in front of her sons. Unable to stop myself, I egged her on.

“Mother, please do not look so upset...I’d hate to speed your aging..” The words were laced in poison, but I kept my voice sweet and soft. I indulged in the way her cheeks flushed.

“Ugh, anyways. Who is this young man? He was not hired by me.” She deflected, her narrow gaze settled on Accius. I wonder if he looked the same to them as he did to me. The demon dropped into a low bow, it must’ve been insulting to do so to a human he had no bond to.

“Milady. Young masters.” He greeted politely, falling back into the role of a servant. He waited for me to introduce him, after all, he did not influence them while we were bound.

“He is my servant. I decided I wanted a butler of my own to escort me when I go into town. It is rather awkward to rely on the guards. Accius..is his name. He is indebted to me for my mercy at his attempt to swindle me and gave me his name and body to subsidize the payment. He will be serving me, and _only_ me, for the foreseeable future.” 

It was only partly a lie and the story was not odd. It was fairly common for townspeople and even other nobles to offer their lives and services to stronger households when financial ruin befell them. It was far more humiliating for the latter than the former. To be reduced to a mere servant from the pedestal of high society was a fall from grace no man could return from. It was to be looked down upon by all you used to favor you. Many families had lost their place in court for such a thing.

Daphne seemed satisfied with the answer. She did not press any further and resumed ignoring me, though I could see the way the veins in her neck tensed at my confidence. Justice stared at Accius, whose face remained a polite blank, and smiled. He was always a polite boy. The only one of my brothers who I cared for. He had been the last to betray me and remained my sole companion in the dungeon until they barred my right to visitors.

The conversation was limited, but the air was more tense than awkward. I had to stop myself from zoning out on several occasions to respond to servants asking me if I wanted more wine. Whatever was said went through one ear and out of the other. Time slowed and I eased myself into my thoughts.

I had been revived by the magic of a hungry demon.

I had a chance to change my fate.

According to Accius, there were multiple times I had wasted this opportunity.

Fear lodged in my heart, my pulse felt slow, my mind was racing. This was only a start, one that may be closed off if I did not handle this evening right. It had been mere hours since my reawakening and I already had a steep mountain to climb. I bit my lip.

“Please rise for Count Durameur, and his esteemed guest, Lord Lupton of the Southern Borderlands.” Announced the Head Butler, Geralt. I pinched my leg and moved to stand. Typically I would curtsey, but I lacked a skirt and my outfit did not replicate one. So instead I followed my brothers’ examples, bowing low with a flourish. I may not have viewed myself as one, but in these watchful eyes, I was a young woman.

When I rose I met my father’s eyes. We both shared the signature green eyes of the Durameur family, ringed in gold when the light hit them. He, however, looked far different than I. His skin was pale and blemish-free, his dark hair was long, sitting on his shoulders and tied with a black band. He was tall, but not lithe. He always looked healthy, no matter how hard he worked to keep both his estate and his business running smoothly. He wasn’t dressed elaborately. His waist-coat was black, much like my own, and bordered with gold, a golden-rose brooch was fastened to the breast. Iridescent thread made a scale-like pattern on the expensive fabric. His shirt was pressed to perfect and flared at the sleeves, something elegant without revoking masculinity. Our outfits were surprisingly similar, but the air around him was one I’d need to learn from.

His facial expression was calm, but his brow did rise upon taking in my outfit. His lip quirked a tell of a smile. I knew my father better than anyone at this table. I offered him a grin, then turned to the Lord by his side. Lord Lupton was not the most attractive man, but that wasn’t what he was known for. He was a scrawny man with bright red hair and a crooked face, one that fit a man as unpleasant as him. He was dressed in white, the many layers clung to his body as if he’d slip out of them. He narrowed his eyes at me, scanning my outfit with noticeable disapproval. I merely smiled. I wanted to lunge at him. I could hear Accius snickering in the back of my mind.

Father addressed me after a moment. His gaze returned to its usual blankness. He was still handsome, even as he aged, I could tell why Daphne was keen to hold onto him.

“I’m glad to see you’re well, Lucienne.” He said, his voice smooth and deep. He carried himself in the same commanding manner as Count Matthias, every inch a Durameur leader. He observed me a little more, after all, I was his daughter, his blood relative sat around this table, he could probably tell something had changed in me.

“Thank you, father,” with a bow, I turned to Lord Lupton. “Sir, I hope your journey was pleasant.”

He muttered his reply and eagerly sat down, gaze locked to Daphne, who offered a playful smile and giggled behind her hand. If it bothered father, he did not show it on his face.

As we all took our seats and the servants began to serve dinner: Pheasant with dark vegetables and a sharp, sweet jelly. Ham cut into thick slices and slathered in apple sauce. Salad made from the gardens produce. Golden wine poured into crystal chalices. Too many cheeses to name. I’d grown so used to rotting scraps and less than nutritious meals that the sight of it all was intoxicating. 

The table had long since fallen silent. Appreciate noises for good food and the clinks of silverware were the only sounds present. Dinner-table-talk would follow soon enough, but it was tradition to keep the first few moments of a meal silent. Quiet praise to the Gods who favored us enough to feed us so plentifully.

Lord Lupton looked as if he were on cloud 9. He feasted like a glutton, piling numerous slices of cheese and meats onto his plate. Father ate a large portion, as did my brothers. But being a young lady I kept my plate modest. Daphne barely picked at her pheasant and she refused to gorge on dairy. As was expected, she was the wife of Count Durameur, the lady-mother of one of Isleneia’s first factions. She would not settle for gaining even the slightest amount of weight.

I ate slowly, it had been too long since I’d eaten something of such high quality, something that didn’t make my stomach reel and my head feel heavy. The crisp skin and soft meat was heaven. It took everything in my power to avoid stuffing it all into my mouth.

My time in the dungeons had spanned several months. I was dragged between a house for nobles and the solid, dirty cells. When I needed to make public appearances they’d dress me up, but as my case went on and my name was slung through the dirt their treatment of me deteriorated. I was shorted on meals, unable to bathe. My visitors were barred from seeing me. They took away my rights one by one. And I’m sure the only reason I’d been spared of… other mistreatments were due to my father’s interference. Even if he could get my charges dropped he’d be marred a traitor to the crown and my entire family would have suffered. I’m sure they struggled with my newfound reputation, but faulting any other member of the family that held the economy in its hands would surely be a foolish move.

Nobility and social prowess worked like a never-ending game of chess. Eliminating a pawn, one like myself may benefit you, but going after the king or queen straight away doesn’t guarantee a victory.

“Father,” I began, setting my fork down. He did not look up at me, but he made an attentive humming sound. “I would like to compete with my brothers for my place as the heir.”

Silence cut through the dinner-table politeness. Everyone stared at me now, Daphne, my brothers, Lord Lupton, and the servants who had begun to clear plates. Father looked up slowly, his eyes boring into mine.

“What nonsense are you on about, girl?!” Daphne near shrieked. Her face hot and flustered. “You dare cause a ruckus in front of the Lord?” She whispered far more viciously. I dismissed her with a wave.

“You… want to compete for the inheritance on my title.” Father repeated, slowly, deliberately, letting every word stew in the air. The atmosphere grew stagnant, so I smiled.

“I know mother used to help you with the running of the business a lot and recently I’d noticed that my way of living has become rather...boring.”

Daphne rose from her seat, palms slammed against the table. I watched her with hard eyes, hoping, praying that she’d try to strike me. My brothers did not say a word.

“Have you no manners?! You spoiled, little wretch! Your father and I have given you everything a young woman could ever need and you dare to behave so ungratefully? In front of a guest no less?”

Her voice was shrill - shock and rage coating her tongue. She was ashamed, livid that I would even attempt to threaten the security of her family.

“You misunderstand me, mother. I am tired of gossip and lies, I am tired of playing the waiting game, I’m tired of looking for a man - who is in no way deserving of my family name - to marry just because society wants it. I want to do something meaningful.” Some flickered in Father’s eyes, but he did not speak.

“Father--!” Winston finally called, mortified. “You can’t possibly let her, think of what the council will say if we let a woman hold the title of the head.”  
  


Yes.  
  


_Yes._

Perfect.

I smiled, it was not a pleasant one. It was hot and poisonous, hidden behind a delicately crafted mask.

“Why can’t Father? As far as I know, I’m the only one sat around this table beside him with Durameur blood." His eyes widened. Lord Lupton choked and Daphne gasped.

"I am the only true kin of the Durameur line and you dare think you can so easily disregard what is my _birthright_.” It felt wonderful. Speaking those words, watching the color drain out of all of their faces.

Good. They needed to know their place.

“Mother, Winston. Are you afraid that I would abandon you? My family, who I love? I merely wish to reach my full potential and I do not believe it can be found in the house of some lesser man. I am a Durameur and I will not be wed off to someone below me, that is what mother had in mind no?”

Father’s brow rose. Daphne fell back into her seat, faint. Her skin pale and her hand fanning at her head. Frederick and Justice had not said a word. After all, both new that no matter how hard they fought, Winston’s road to count-dom was mostly unattainable, they were younger and Daphne favored him more. Winston was easy for her to control. His place as the family head would grant her even more power. Daphne did not see me as a threat and she wouldn’t encourage infighting amongst her dearest sons. But I had shattered that. I'd toppled her plans.

“Father, you needn’t support me, but even if you don’t I want to do this. I want to honor mother memory, I want to honor you. I will not waste my talents.” 

Our eyes locked, father and daughter. Connected by blood and mutual love for a woman long passed. His lip twitched, he almost seemed amused.

“I will support you. There will not be any problems with that, yes?” He addressed the table, but only to save face. Daphne fanned herself while an amused servant girl dabbed at her forehead with a silk handkerchief. Lord Lupton looked shocked but remained quiet. Justice snickered behind his hand.

Winston turned his gaze to me, hot and fiery. I had just declared war. One he had no strategy for.

I turned to Lord Lupton, smiling as sweetly as I could. “I apologize for the commotion my lord. We _Durameurs_ take pride in our name and it’s power. But now that that’s settled we can resume our meal.”

The air was heavy, but I felt great. Accius applauded me in the back of my mind and cleared his throat.

“My Lords, my Ladies, your dessert.” He clapped his hands and in rolled trays of cheesecake served with cooked blood-colored fruits. Servants swept away our dirty plates and set out the fresh new ones. Delicacies prepared by a demon’s hand.

“This is not-- This is not what I had planned,” Daphne said, glaring at me.

“Please excuse my manners, Milady. But noticed the original dessert did not take into account Lady Lucienne’s allergies. It would be a shame if she were to fall ill.” He said politely.

Daphne’s eyes widened. She cleared her throat.

“How...attentive, this servant of yours certainly cares for his master.”

I take my fork and pop a slice of cheesecake into my mouth. It tasted amazing and I could tell by the look on everyone’s face they agreed.

In my previous life, Daphne had poisoned me. Making me look like a fool in front of Lord Lupton and father. I had Amelia and Accius ensure that would not happen tonight and the look of horror on her face told me everything I needed to know.

She knew I was onto her. She knew I was onto all of their schemes and that I was no longer going to allow myself to be perceived in such a way. Good. That would make this all very interesting.

I smiled to myself, eating my dessert with pride.

Things were going to change.

I couldn’t wait.

  
  


~ & ~

Accius loosened my hair with surprising tenderness. I sat in a nightshirt, staring into the mirror. I did not see a girl in that reflection, I saw me, just me. I saw the next head of House Durameur, I saw a villain who was on their way to retribution. I had awoken something in my soul today, perhaps Accius felt it too, perhaps that’s why he was being gentle.

I rolled my shoulders back, each braid he loosened bounced free in a thick curl. My hair was not straight like the maidens around me, and once it had been something that made me desirable, _unique_ to the men of high society. I thought about my mother, I wonder if she had been the same. She had always embraced who she was, her dark skin, her free disposition, her fearlessness. She had been a lioness, prideful, and brave. Strong even amidst a circle of hunters.

I did not believe she died a normal death. My heart hurt, I had not done her justice in my past life. I’d ruined the life she gave me, I’d let her die in vain. But this time things would be different.

I rose and Accius stepped away from me. He stretched his arms up above his head and yawned, loud. I kept my eyes on the mirror, taking myself in. I will never be one of the pale skin, dainty courtiers and now I was aware of what would happen if I simply became a regular lady of the court I had to do my best to earn my spot as the Head of House Durameur. That was my major goal. To earn that title would not be easy. Father would not allow me to use my mother’s memory to manipulate him again. 

I had bared my teeth, fangs sharpened by a desire to avenge myself on this new life. I could not simply revert to being a spoiled brat. I had to see this through to the end. Or else I'd die once again.

“Accius. Have Amelia send word to the palace that I will be visiting. There’s someone I want to see.”  
  


“Sure, sure.”  
  
He waved my off lazily, but slid out the room, leaving me on my own. I clicked the latch and locked the door, setting myself down at my desk. I took out a notebook, inside l had listed all I remembered, ever single flash I’d seen before the gallows claimed me.

My downfall started with the arrival of one particular woman. I didn't blame her for my woes. But that didn’t mean I wouldn’t use her for my gain.

Olivette Nikolai Marli.

Her influence was another power I needed before anything else.

~ & ~

**Author's Note:**

> Hello Reader!!!
> 
> Thank you for taking the time to read this! I understand that it's not a fanfic so that may turn others away, but I hope you come to enjoy it as well as watching my journey, I'm not the best writer, but I hope to get better and better as I continue this!
> 
> That being said updates may be a little slow, I often have other work I need to do, but I will do my best to get these posted on a consistent schedule! 
> 
> Please feel free to comment and share, I also like constructive criticisms even if I can't reply to everyone. Thank you so much!
> 
> \- Lifee


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